
Echoes of Truer Skins
Pouring over the pages and pages of my life
I see the wheels of memory churning
Like a carousel cycle
Brimming with the breath of something once warmth
Which carries the echoes of truer skins
Our warm nature, living in stone cave cold
Even in words, written out delicately…
The knowing is not in word
Or image
It is a masterpiece within you,
An orchestra beyond music
The fluidity and movement itself
Like water,
Yet,
Like air
Or, like the abandoned violet dust that sifts through your fingers
A returning,
A losing,
A joining
Warmth becomes true warmth
When it comes to love the cold
Warmth cannot be soft until it’s soft enough that,
When everything in it says to harden
It doesn’t